


Rhythm

by Lady of Prompts (Aethelflaed)



Series: BINGO [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Has ADHD (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I tried ok, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mostly Fluff, Prompt Fill, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), aro friendly, maybe not, they're working it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Lady%20of%20Prompts
Summary: One night in the South Downs cottage, Crowley asks Aziraphale to dance - but the angel isn't ready to say yes.--“Dance?” In the silence between them, the music swayed with a simple rhythm, soft and – now that he had reason to think of it that way – intimate. “Oh, I…” Nothing like the quick, rapid beat of the gavotte, and he doubted that’s what Crowley had in mind, anyway. “I wouldn’t…know how…I’ve never…”“Look, forget it,” Crowley said in a rush. “We don’t have to. Stupid idea. I just…” His eyes darted away and he fumbled for the glasses hanging on the front of his shirt. “Go back to your book.”--For the Kisses-Bingo prompt: "Deep Kiss/Gentle Shoulder Bump"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BINGO [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017241
Comments: 19
Kudos: 197
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Kisses Bingo





	Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to the Kisses Bingo collection! Which actually contains no kissing! The prompt options were "Deep kiss" or "Gentle Shoulder Bump" and you can see which I went with in the end...

“Angel.”

Crowley held out his hand, palm up.

Aziraphale stared at it. He’d just settled into his chair for the evening, book open, some light instrumental music playing on Crowley’s elaborate sound system.

He missed his gramophone, but he had to admit, the fancy modern speakers were very loud and the music was clear, though lacking the _character_ of hisses and pops he was used to. It was something he would simply have to get used to, part of the process of sharing a cottage – a life – with each other.

Still, Crowley should know perfectly well by now that he didn’t like to be interrupted while reading.

“Yes? What is it?” He looked at the hand, then glanced at the table next to him. Nothing there but his own cup of tea. “Did you need something?”

“Oh,” Crowley lowered his hand a little, smirk falling off his face. “No, I…doesn’t matter.”

“Just tell me, dear fellow. You already have my attention.”

“I just…” he shuffled his feet, thumbs tucked into his pockets. “I…thought we could…dance…”

“Dance?” In the silence between them, the music swayed with a simple rhythm, soft and – now that he had reason to think of it that way – intimate. “Oh, I…” Nothing like the quick, rapid beat of the gavotte, and he doubted that’s what Crowley had in mind, anyway. “I wouldn’t…know how…I’ve never…”

“Look, forget it,” Crowley said in a rush. “We don’t have to. Stupid idea. I just…” His eyes darted away and he fumbled for the glasses hanging on the front of his shirt. “Go back to your book.”

“Crowley—”

“Nh. S’fine.” He walked away, and a moment later the back door shut, just a bit louder than necessary.

Aziraphale lowered his book as the music played on.

\--

The garden path was bordered by gardenias and evening primrose, bright white petals and a thick, fragrant scent. The stood a little straighter – bloomed a little wider – as Crowley stormed past, but he couldn’t find anything to shout at them about.

The garden was a riot in the daytime, lavender and tulips, roses and zinnias, honeysuckle and marigolds. No more plain green plants and succulents, Crowley had charged head-first into flowers, never pausing to think how everything would fit together. He neve paused to think, not ever.

Up ahead, the little wooden gazebo that stood near the center of the cottage grounds. Already he was encouraging the morning glories to twine their way up the sides, but right now it was still mostly bare and pale brown.

His shoes clicked across the wood floor as he paced, trying to find an outlet for his energy. He wasn’t _mad_ or _upset,_ not really, but it was like a blow to the heart, a tightness in his chest that he couldn’t make go away.

Stupid, stupid idea. Angels don’t dance. He didn’t even know why he’d ever suggested it. They’d been in the cottage for a few months, they were finding a rhythm to their life, he didn’t need to go disrupting it with new ideas, foolish ideas that—

“Crowley.”

He turned, and there was Aziraphale, standing at the bottom of the gazebo steps, hand stretched out. From the cottage windows, the slow music began once again, miraculously loud in the quite South Downs night.

\--

Crowley stared at him for a long time, long enough that Aziraphale began to feel awkward, embarrassed. Maybe he’d misread everything entirely. Maybe it was best to leave Crowley alone…

“Don’t.” The demon folded his arms tight across his chest and leaned back against the waist-high gazebo wall. “Don’t force yourself for me.”

Aziraphale let his hand fall, but didn’t look away.

It wasn’t easy. Six thousand years of bad habits, six thousand years of never saying _quite_ what you meant, six thousand years of worrying if the next little step would be too much, would upset the balance, would push the other away. Six thousand years without _thank you_ or _I’m sorry_ or _my friend_ or…

He climbed the steps, feet falling heavily on the creaking wood, and crossed to where Crowley stood, leaning against the wall beside him.

Shifting a little closer, Aziraphale felt his shoulder bump Crowley’s, just gently, a quick warm press, then back to their own spaces. As it had always been, together but separate. He wasn’t sure he preferred it that way. “It’s…I suppose I would be forcing myself. In a way. All of this is very new to me.” He tugged on the soft tartan jumper he had taken to wearing, missing his waistcoat again. It was comfortable, but it wasn’t familiar. Even after all these months, everything still felt strange. “I’m not like you. New doesn’t come easily. But. That doesn’t mean it’s unwelcome when it does.”

Crowley just stood there, staring ahead, jaw clenched. Aziraphale brushed their shoulders again, just gently, and this time didn’t pull away. “Whenever you’re ready.”

There was a long silence. The music wound to an end.

“S’not your fault,” Crowley finally said, still staring ahead, still tense. “I don’t like…it _hurts_ sometimes. Shouldn’t take it so hard. But I do. Not your fault.”

“What hurts?” Aziraphale carefully reached for his hand, gently sliding their palms together, twining their fingers. “When I say no?”

“No, I – I don’t want to – to guilt you. Never. But. Yeah.” He shrugged. “It reminds me that I don’t…that I’m not…”

“Stop that.” Aziraphale dropped his hand and stepped in front of Crowley, cupping his face in both hands. “What are you going to say? That you’re not worthy? _Of course you are.”_ Crowley shook his head, but didn’t try to pull away. “You _are._ If I am sometimes…hesitant, that _isn’t your fault.”_

“Don’t – I’m not asking you to…do anything you don’t want to…”

“I know. And I would never ask you to change what you are. We’ll find a way.”

Crowley leaned his forehead down, pressed it against Aziraphale’s, while the angel’s arms wrapped around his neck. “We really are a mess, aren’t we?”

“Yes. We are two disasters, but at least we are disasters together. Now.” He snapped his fingers, and for the third time tonight, the slow song started. “Are you going to dance with me?”

Crowley’s hands slid around his waist, and after one more awkward moment of uncertainty, began to sway, slowly guiding Aziraphale through shuffling, hesitant steps.

It wasn’t energetic, or graceful, or anything Aziraphale had seen in the dances he’d admired across the centuries. But the beat of Crowley’s heart was there – just there, where his ear rested against that chest – and really, what more did he ever need?

They found their rhythm, one step at a time, and the dance lasted long after the music ceased, shuffling across the floor of the gazebo under the burning stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I *swear* this started out as "deep kiss" but when the moment came it didn't feel right.
> 
> This dialogue exchange - Aziraphale's hesitancy triggering Crowley's Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria in particular - is part of an idea I've been trying to work into "Sawdust of Words." It's one of the trickier things to accomplish because, as touched upon here, "your rejections hurt like physical pain" is a pretty awful thing to say to someone who's been emotionally manipulated for thousands of years. Which is all to say I'm likely to return to this in the future.
> 
> In the meantime, thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
